Page 77 of Captive Virgin of the Bratva

I press my forehead to the door and close my eyes.

I don’t know what terrifies me more.

The man who hurt me once and came back.

Or the one who says he’ll destroy anyone who tries again—and means it.

Chapter Nineteen - Kolya

She’s acting different.

Not loudly. Not enough that anyone else would notice, but I do.

I noticeeverythingwhen it comes to Elise.

The silences between her words are longer. Her glances shorter. She speaks to me less, touches me even less than that. She eats slowly. Drinks slower. And when she thinks I’m not looking, she stretches in that perfect, lazy way—arms over her head, back arched just enough to make my blood pressure spike. Her shirt rides up. Her breath catches. My teeth clench.

She’s doing it on purpose, and I swear to God, it’s working.

The first time she wore that tighter dress, I nearly lost it. Black, sleek, clinging to every curve like it was tailored to ruin me. She said nothing about it. Just walked in like it was an accident. Sat down across from me, crossed one leg over the other, and let her fingers trace the rim of her wine glass like she didn’t know I was watching.

She knows. Shefuckingknows.

It’s punishment. A game. Maybe both. She’s jealous and she wants me to feel it—wants to prove something, push me to react. I can see it in the sharp tilt of her chin, in the way she looks through me instead ofatme.

This little act of hers is cutting both ways.

Every time I lean in, she pulls away. Every time I reach for her, she turns just enough to let my hand brush her sleeve, her waist, her hair—never her skin.

It’s driving me insane.

I want to grab her by the wrists and pin her against the nearest wall. I want to shove the truth out of her mouth—make her admit what she’s doing. That she hates that woman for being close to me. That she lies awake at night thinking about the things I did to her last week, about the things I could still do.

That she wants me just as much as I want her.

There’s something behind it. Something deeper than jealousy. Her eyes give her away when she thinks I’m not watching—there’s fear in them. Hesitation. Pain. And it’s not all aboutme. At least, not yet.

She’s hiding something, and I need to know what it is.

So I wait. I watch.

I let her flirt with defiance and pretend it doesn’t bother me, while every second she keeps her distance makes me burn hotter. I let her tug the leash, thinking she’s in control, thinking I won’t snap.

Elise doesn’t understand what she does to me—not really. She thinks she’s getting under my skin like it’s a victory.

She doesn’t realize she’salreadyunder it.

She’s in every breath I take. Every goddamn thought I try to shake off. She’s there when I’m handling Bratva business, blood on my knuckles, and still I’m wondering if she’s curled up in bed without me. If she’s angry. If she’s thinking about leaving again.

She belongs to me. She said so with her mouth. With her body. And still, she slips away like a shadow every time I reach for her.

I can’t have that. Iwon’thave that.

So I wait. I let her dance. Let her pour another drink with those slow, teasing fingers. Let her look away when I speak. Let her wear the shirts that show too much and dare me to react.

Soon I’ll remind her who she belongs to.

I’ll find out what she’s running from this time. What ghost is still in her head, clawing at her like it deserves space in her mind.

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